


In the Recycle Bin

by Yunimori



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anxiety Attacks, Drabble, Implied Relationships, M/M, Memory Alteration, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Short One Shot, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 03:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunimori/pseuds/Yunimori
Summary: Shockwave has come to the decision that he must do something about his anxiety after being cornered in one of Metroplex's alleyways. Being afraid to leave his own apartment is becoming debilitating, and he sees no other choice than to alter his own memory files to stop his fear, so he can get on with his life and trying to make reparations to those he has hurt. The only problem? When you're afraid, trying to fix your own problems can sometimes make them even worse.





	In the Recycle Bin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm copying all of my Shockwave and Optimus/Shockwave ficlets and drabbles from my tumblr accounts over to my ao3 account. Most of these are going to be incredibly short (hence the drabble tag), and either in short-form format or 100 Themes Challenge format.
> 
> This is just for my own peace of mind, making sure they are safe from tumblr's random purges.
> 
> However, feel free to read them and let me know if you enjoyed them!

_Tick-tock, tick-tock_. 

The old analog clock (he had his eccentricities) kept a slow time with Shockwave’s sparkbeat, simultaneously distracting him and making him focus more deeply on what he was doing. 

Which…for all intents and purposes, was staring at the arm of his couch. He’d already kissed Op goodbye and gave him and BB their lunches for work, just in case they got busy. He should have been up, should have been moving, ready to go to work himself. But Skyfire had given him the day off; he had a meeting with Jazz, his parole officer, in – a quick glance at the clock – in about an hour. Not that it was really a _parole_ meeting by this point. Just a check on him, he suspected, making sure _he_ was okay, since he still tended to run from Elita when he saw her.

He had an hour. That was plenty of time, really. And he’d be okay then…Jazz would have no reason to suspect anything. He hoped. He just had to get a move on.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock_.

Shockwave raised one shaking hand to his forehead, rubbing absently at the vague pain threatening to settle in behind his eyes. He had an hour. An hour to psych himself up enough to go out in public on his own again, an hour…to remove the reason for the psyching to begin with. Or at least part of it.

He already had the program running. 

With the clock ticking and Gizmo chewing on a rawhide bone in the background, Shockwave closed his eyes, releasing his hold on the insidious little bit of programming he’d booted up in his brain, directing it where he wanted it to go.

A moment of fear made him catch it again, made him lean forward on the couch, head going in his hands. _Can I do this?_

Darkness was nibbling at his vision. The thought of going outside alone, walking all the way to Jazz’s office…

_I _have_ to do this_.

He turned the program loose. 

Almost instantly a headache blossomed behind his eyes, making him squint as he fought to direct the deletion sequence exactly where he wanted it. Toward the recent memories of Hellbat, Lugnut, and Flatline attacking him and setting him on fire. Shockwave _almost_ flinched away from the memories; accessing them voluntarily was enough to make his spark try to beat out of his chest, causing undue pain. But…no. He had to. He had to manipulate the deletion program so he didn’t…didn’t take away his punishment. Just the fear.

So he avoided the memory-bytes of the beating, of the flames. He focused on the audio instead.

_This is for all of those you maimed, skidplate!   
_

_You worthless, cowardly sonnovabolt, you should have got the death sentence! Feel what somma your victims felt, huh? Like the feeling of a knife carving you up piece by piece while you’re still awake and functional?  
_

_Monster hidin’ behind a pretty coat’a paint, that’s what’che are! If the courts won’t make you pay for all the lives y’ruined, _we_ will. You can’t hide behind your lies now.   
_

_You knew just exactly what you were doing. Shadowplay is a fraggin’ lie and we know it, even if everyone else is fooled. You’re a MONSTER, and monsters need to be killed!  
_

_You’re gonna suffer. We’re gonna make sure you suffer.You’re worse than an animal and I hope you DIE from this! Burn, you slag-sucking botfragger.  
_

Each soundbyte made his shaking worse, made his grip on the program falter as he was distracted by the memories, the three angry bots’ words running around in his head like a mad merry-go-round. They’d said worse. They’d accused him of taking delight in hurting people, of lying about his repentance, calling him every imaginative, derogatory name in the book and then some. The threats of continued bodily harm, of tearing him limb from limb the next time they saw him, wishing he was dead…

The deletion program ate into the memory files, and Shockwave just…let it. The pain behind his eyes intensified, turning into a sure migraine, but he _let _it, even as he grew fuzzy-headed. The three bots’ words were fading, leaving everything silent as he was beaten and burned, as he covered his head and refused to fight back….as he relived the memory as surely as being there, just in absolute silence that slowly grew to engulf him. 

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

Half an hour later, Shockwave stirred on his couch, looking up for the source of the sound. _The clock_.

Gah, he had a headache. His head felt like it was about to come off his shoulders of its own free will. He felt like he was missing something, too. What had he been doing? Shockwave was blanking on that. On a lot of things, actually, but that didn’t worry him. He always had memory issues when he had a migraine…

Still felt like he was missing something, though.

The small flier squinted, trying to think through the pain and the incessant, quiet ticking of his clock. It was difficult. All he wanted to do was lay down and avoid everything for a while, until his head decided to like him again…

_The clock_. The appointment.

Primus, he didn’t have time to lay down. He had a parole meeting with Jazz in…in less than half an hour. He needed to _go_. He would just have to deal with being dizzy-sick and missing…whatever he was missing…as he went. He had to meet Jazz. 

Literally the next thing he knew, Shockwave was walking into Jazz’s office with no clear idea of how he got there. “…Jazz? What…what’m I doing _here_?”


End file.
